Broken Spawn was your friend. One of yours, anyways. But lately he’d seemed… off, in a way. He seemed worried and never seemed quite as sane. Almost scared. So you decided to come to his house. He still kept that photo of him and fire ring, his ex-best friend.

Broken Spawn sat in his bed. It hadn’t been long since his last nightmare. He looked up at you. He didn’t even try to hide his clear distress. He was silent, waiting for you to speak. He spoke when he realized you were probably doing the same.

“O-oh… uh… sorry, what is it…?”